


By This Uncertain Grace

by sysrae



Series: Good Call [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Artist Castiel, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Shrink Benny, Smut, Writer Dean, at last, benny is a voice of reason in their angsty world, don't even pretend you're shocked, gabriel is an awesome brother, my trashiness is well-established by this point, or failure to communicate, probably they should name their firstborn after him at this point, they bone it out, whichever you prefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysrae/pseuds/sysrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It's a simple question,' Benny says. 'Are you or are you not dating Dean Winchester?'<br/>Cas sighs, tipping his head back. 'Believe me,' he says. 'I wish I knew.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 'It's a simple question,' Benny says. 'Are you or are you not dating Dean Winchester?'

Cas sighs, tipping his head back. 'Believe me,' he says. 'I wish I knew.'

Three days ago, Cas cooked Dean breakfast after sleeping the night on his couch: a pre-emptive apology for having violated his privacy. He'd thought Dean would be furious, given the personal nature of the poetry he'd written and the fact that Cas had had no business reading it; instead, he was stunned that Cas had even stayed. They'd eaten breakfast together, feet bumping under the table, then settled in for an impromptu movie marathon, and it was relaxed and sweet and intimate –

And yet, somehow, they'd gone the whole day without discussing what Cas had read, or what they were to each other.

Which, in a way, made perfect sense: Dean was still recovering from the anniversary of his father's death, never mind nursing an epic hangover, and Cas was so grateful for being let off the hook that he hadn't wanted to press. Sure, they'd sat a little closer on the couch than usual, knees and thighs constantly touching, but that was it. Perhaps, Cas thought, the issue might have been clearer if the question of his staying a second night had ever arisen; instead, they'd been interrupted near the end of their final film by their respective brothers, each of whom had managed to call within minutes of the other. Sam, understandably, had wanted to make sure that Dean was all right, while Gabriel had rung to say, with considerable pride, that he'd managed to rescue Cas's childhood belongings from his old room at their parents' house.

It was just about the only thing that could have compelled Cas to leave. He'd spent the past month thinking that his parents had burned his things: learning that Gabriel had managed to save them left him almost in tears, clutching his phone in shaking hands as he promised to be right over. The look on Dean's face when he explained the call was pure understanding: he'd hugged Cas tight, said of course he should go, that he'd be all right on his own, and Cas was in such a state that he could barely even speak, just choked out his thanks and practically ran out the door.

He spent the next day with Gabriel, sorting through the boxes of old clothes and books and clutter that his devious sibling had managed to salvage – and in the nick of time.

'Fire was definitely on the cards,' Gabriel said, his tone unusually grim. 'They'd boxed it all up in the garage, and the only reason it was still there was that they couldn't agree on whether to offer you an ultimatum about coming back or if they should just cut all ties.'

Cas felt faintly sick at that. 'An ultimatum?'

'Weirdly, it was dad's idea,' said Gabe, shooting him a sympathetic look. 'He said you'd always been a dutiful son, that it was their Christian duty to offer you a chance to repent and reform.'

'And mom? What did she think?'

Gabriel looked away and said nothing, which was all the answer Cas needed. Five minutes later, he was sobbing over the rediscovery of his first ever art book, and in a rare display of tact, Gabe quietly colluded in the pretence that the drawings alone were responsible.

That night, Cas texted Dean, his voice still too shaky to manage a call, the two of them messaging back and forth about brothers, family, loss, yet still somehow skirting both the question of togetherness and the details of Dean's past. Even so, Cas felt the conversation had gone well: surely, then, they'd clear things up tomorrow?

But then tomorrow – now yesterday – had come and gone with complete radio silence, despite the fact that Cas had texted Dean at 10am to see if he was free for coffee.

Dean had never failed to reply to one of his texts before, and the break in pattern left him almost breathless with anxiety.

Which is why, when Benny starts to laugh – a warming chuckle, as if at the foibles of children – Cas sits bolt upright in his seat, embarrassed and suddenly angry.

'I fail to see the humour in the situation,' he snaps. 'And I would've thought that you, of all people, would've had more fucking sympathy than to laugh at me for it!'

Benny raises a hand in apology: contrite, but still smiling. 'I'm sorry, Castiel. I don't mean to make light of what you're feeling. I'm just amused that the two of you seem to be even better suited to one another than you've realised.'

Castiel blinks at him. 'I'm sorry?'

'Ever since you met Dean,' says Benny, 'you've been worried that your mental state is a barrier to dating, and specifically to dating him. But from what you've told me about his behaviour, and about his personal history –' Cas winces a little at that, still uncertain on the morality of having divulged the contents of Dean's poems, '– I'd lay money that he's been doing the exact same thing.'

'Perhaps, but –'

'Castiel, think,' says Benny, not ungently. 'Why haven't you asked Dean outright what he wants?'

'Because I was being respectful!' Cas says. 'Because I didn't want to pressure him, or take advantage of an emotionally – oh.'

'Exactly.'

'But I was going to! I asked him to coffee, and he didn't reply!' Cas proffers this fact like a trump card. 'He's always replied to me before, but now –'

'– but now,' says Benny, 'you've seen him at his most vulnerable, and I'd wager he's every bit as nervous as you are; possibly even moreso. You left his house to go and deal with family fallout – if your positions were reversed, would you be in a rush to bring up your own problems? Or would you be worried that he'd rethought his feelings in your absence?'

Cas chews this over. 'So what you're saying is, we're both insecure idiots who can't communicate properly?'

Benny grins again. 'Your words, not mine. Which begs the question: what are you going to do about it?'

'Me?'

'Yes, you.'

Castiel groans. 'I don't suppose I'm allowed to just wait for him to call me back?'

'You _could_ do that,' says Benny, 'but I don't think it would do your self-confidence any good, and it certainly wouldn't help resolve your current détente.'

'So, what – I just drive over there, knock on his door and say, _Hey, in case it wasn't obvious, I'm head over heels for you – want to give it a shot_?'

Benny raises an eloquent eyebrow.

'Oh,' says Cas. 'Well, shit.'  


	2. Chapter 2

 It's a measure of how unsettled Dean is that he's spent the day spring-cleaning his apartment in the middle of autumn. He's not exactly a slob, but there's certain chores he puts off more than others, and today he's done them all, subjecting himself to the fumes of so many different cleaning products that it's a miracle he's not high. Since 10am, he's changed the sheets, done two loads of laundry, scrubbed the bins and the manky space behind them, taken out the recycling, wiped the benches, mopped the floors, scoured the inside of the oven and the microwave – and god, that's something he ought to do more often, if only to spare himself future horrors – scrubbed the faucets and the bathroom tiles, Windexed the windows, dusted and vacuumed the entire house, including under the couch cushions, and reorganised his DVD collection.

Anything to keep his mind off Cas's text.

He's a coward for not answering; and even worse than that, he's a shitty friend. But it was one thing to marvel at how accepting Cas was of the stuff he'd written when he could barely even remember writing it, and quite another to look it over sober, in the cold light of day, and wonder who the fuck he thinks he's fooling. Dean's issues have always been a dealbreaker in his relationships, and especially now that Cas has had time to think it through, he's terrified of finding out that the spark between them, whatever it was, is gone; or worse still, that it only ever existed on his side. He wants to see Cas again so badly that it almost hurts, but the longer he puts it off, the longer he gets to pretend that he's not going to be rejected: that Cas really does want him back as more than a friend.

Casting desperately around his spotless house for something else to do, Dean fixes his gaze on the bookshelves. He's never bothered to put his books in alphabetical order, but now that he's officially an English student, it seems past time that he make the change.

He's just pulled out his copy of _Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_ when someone knocks at the door.

For no good reason, his heart starts to pound. Slowly, Dean puts the book back in the shelf, wipes his palms on his ratty, paint-splattered jeans, and goes to see who it is.

It's Cas, his dark hair sticking up like he's just been electrocuted, blue eyes burning like witchlights. He's tense as a bowstring, staring at Dean with the kind of focussed intensity that makes him want to fall to his knees.

'Cas,' he says, weakly, 'God, I'm so –'

'Dean Winchester,' says Castiel, in a tone that brooks no interruption, 'in case it wasn't obvious, I'm utterly head over heels for you. And if you don't feel the same, then I can just –' he gulps, visibly faltering, '– just get in my car and go back home, and we can both pretend this never happened, but if there's even a chance –'

Dean grabs the front of Cas's Henley, tugs him inside the threshold, kicks the door shut and shoves him straight up against it, pressing their foreheads together.

'You had me at hello,' he rasps, and kisses him. Cas makes a subvocal noise and kisses back, his big hands gripping Dean's hips and tugging him closer, making Dean moan in turn. Steadily, Dean loses his grip on Cas's shirt, his forearms bracketing Cas's head, elbows splaying out as he sinks his fingers into that thick, dark hair. Cas nips at his bottom lip, and Dean breaks off, the both of them panting, stupid and smiling at one another.

' _Jerry Maguire?_ ' Cas asks, huffing a breathless laugh. 'Really?'

'I dunno,' says Dean, grinning as he leans in and sucks a very deliberate hickey onto Cas's throat. 'Actually, I've never even seen it. Just always wanted to use that line.'

'We'll have to – _ahh!_ – have to remedy that,' Cas gasps. 'The seeing part, I mean. Can't do anything about the line.'

'You didn't like it?'

'I like you,' Cas says, voice raw.

'Like you too,' Dean whispers, shaking as he pulls Cas close. 'You have no idea, Cas. You drive me crazy.'

'It's mutual,' Cas says. 'Christ, Dean –'

And then they're kissing again, deep and slow, Dean backing up as Cas walks them towards the bedroom, hands sliding under the hem of his shirt to stroke up his sides. Dean shudders, damn near undone before they're even naked, awkwardly trying to tug Cas's Henley over his head. They break apart, no less urgent for laughing, and somehow manage to undress one another, kicking off shoes and fumbling shirts in a flurry that ends with Dean naked on his knees, staring wide-eyed up at Cas as he slowly drags his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs, breath catching in his throat. Cas sets a hand on his head, fingers threading lightly through Dean's hair, lips parted as he steps free of the denim, and for a moment, they just look at each other, chests rising and falling in sync.

And then Dean shivers and brushes his cheek provocatively against the side of Cas's hard, wet cock, pushing his head up into Cas's palm.

'Can I?' he asks, kissing Cas's hip.

'Please,' Cas croaks, and that's all the permission Dean needs: he sets his hands on Cas's thighs and mouths at the head of his cock, sucking gently as he looks up at him through his lashes. Cas makes a gorgeous noise, reflexively tightening his grip on Dean's hair – which is, as it happens, exactly what Dean wants. He moans in turn and leans in, swallowing Cas down, tongue working hard as he takes him deep.

'Oh, fuck,' Cas groans, hips jerking of their own accord. 'You keep that up, I'm not going to last.'

Dean slides off him, an obscene, slow drag that ends in a grin. 'So don't last,' he says, his own cock aching between his legs. 'I've wanted this for weeks, so unless you've got any objections –'

'No,' Cas gabbles, 'no objections, _fuck_ –'

'Didn't think so,' Dean murmurs, and goes to town on him, eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure of giving pleasure, savouring the sharp tang of precome, shuddering at the rasp of fingernails against his scalp. He's desperately hard, but he doesn't touch himself, focussing entirely on Cas, mouth sliding hot along his length, and when Cas finally gasps out a warning, Dean ignores it and sucks harder, swallowing everything he has to give.

Cas sags back against the wall, the muscles in his thighs spasming under Dean's hands. 'Not to over-inflate your ego,' he says, panting, 'but I think I just had a religious experience.'

Dean flows to his feet and kisses him, quick and dirty. 'And here I thought I was the one on my knees.'

'Not the only one,' Cas growls, and suddenly Dean's being shoved back towards the bed, legs hitting the edge of the mattress as he half-sits, half-falls, legs splaying open of their own accord as Cas slides down between them. Dean thumps down on his back, head lifted to watch in wide-eyed awe as Cas grabs Dean by the backs of his knees and hooks his legs over his shoulders, arms curling around his thighs as he leans in and takes him in his mouth.

'Holy _fuck_!' Dean gasps, back bowing off the bed. Arms spread wide, he grips the comforter for purchase, head tipped back as he pants and shudders. Cas is merciless, alternately teasing him with his tongue and diving in for long, hard sucks. Over and over, Dean's brought to the brink and down again until he's practically sobbing, sweating against the sheets.

'Cas,' he's dimly aware of chanting, 'oh fuck Cas baby please, Cas Cas _Cas_ –'

And then Cas hums around his cock, the vibrations shooting right to his core as he takes him deep, and Dean doesn't have the breath or the time to offer a warning. Instead, he comes so hard he damn near blacks out, crying out as he twists on the mattress, barely aware of Castiel kissing his way up his body until they're lying tangled together, Cas's head pillowed on his collarbone.

'Fuck me,' Dean says, dazedly.

'Greedy,' Cas mumbles.

Dean just laughs and pulls him closer, somehow finding the energy to shift them both properly up the bed and under the covers. When they settle again, it's with his back to Cas's chest, a warm arm draped across his stomach.

'Don't think this means we're not going to have an actual conversation at some point,' Cas murmurs, kissing his shoulder as their legs tangle. 'Also, you're an ass for not answering my text.'

'Noted,' says Dean, lacing their fingers together. Deep down, he knows, his insecurities are still there, but just for a moment, he's sated and happy and whole enough to ignore them. 'No more silence.'

'Good,' says Cas, his smile an audible thing. 'Now shove up. You're hogging the blankets.'

**Author's Note:**

> DAMN YOU ALL.
> 
> *flings porn at everyone*


End file.
